


Hoodies

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Drunk Cuddles, Fluff, Hoodies, M/M, just something to gear up for hoodie hashtag thursday!, silly things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:52:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4758887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Did you manage to fly up here like that?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I… caught a ride,” Michael admits, and Gabriel just rolls his eyes to the ceiling, imagining Raphael gathering their wayward siblings from earth.</i>
</p><p>Just some brotherly love. A hoodie headcanon we have had since season one that we finally have a place for, here! Silliness and cute things, enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoodies

In the moments before a worldly storm, a certain sensation fills the air. Fine hairs upon the human form crackle with the promise of inbound energy and rise from the skin as though uplifted from the change in pressure. There is a scent that accompanies, unlike anything in the firmament or its many spheres, as the first droplets of a summertime sprinkle or a fallowing flood contact the soil, darkening the dry sand and stone in spots that spread slowly, then all at once. It fills one swiftly, dizzying in the sweet intoxication and promise of life - or sometimes death - that a storm carries in it.

Gabriel draws a deep breath, and as he exhales, he shivers, skin prickling.

Michael carries on him the same scent.

A hand placed across the page of his book stops it from turning beneath the hard slap of wings against the air as Michael lands silently in their celestial eyrie. He doesn’t bother to fold them back, instead shaking them in a tremor of pleasure from the long upward flight from earth to heavens. A squint and a smirk, always a little smug, lingers as he looks to his twin sat peaceably alone in their many-roomed and always-changing space.

“If I told you that a century passed on Earth while you read,” Michael muses, “would you believe me?”

“These writers that Uriel visits,” Gabriel replies, turning another page, settling back in the comfort of his imagined space. “I wonder if she knows how they take her knowledge, the snippets of it she allows them, and turn it into this.”

“You’re reading of Earth?”

“From it,” Gabriel tells him. “And some of the books are not half bad.” He looks up then, finger holding his place as he closes the book atop it, and lifts his head. He doesn’t look for Michael, he can sense him near. “Has a century passed?” He asks, amused.

Michael grins and Gabriel feels his own lips curve upward in response. “Not so long as that,” he admits. “A few weeks.”

“Only? You’re back early then. Finished all your smiting?”

A snort is the immediate response, as Michael footsteps curl the drifting fog ever-present in the firmament into eddies that preclude his movements. He folds his wings only so that he can drop down into a ready pile of pillows across from his brother.

“Observing,” he corrects Gabriel. “You know there’s not been any smiting for - well, for centuries. Have you gotten to the ones yet that she inspired through her less academic musing? I’ll give her credit for managing to muse out _The Tale of Two Lovers_ before the author became a Pope.”

Gabriel laughs, looks up to answer, and finds his voice no longer his own. Before him sits his brother, sprawled, wings spread behind himself in casual repose, and upon him -

“Michael.”

“Gabriel.”

“What -” A pause, a frown, as Gabriel takes in the garment - if it can be called that at all - that drapes over Michael. “If you sought a cloak, I’d think it would be… longer.”

Blue eyes narrow, just a twitch of muscle, but Michael’s smile curves comfortably.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he shrugs, setting his teeth to his bottom lip as Gabriel’s lips part briefly speechless.

“On your head,” he finally manages. He lifts a brow as Michael laughs, a crackle of pleasure breaking free as he lifts a hand to the hood.

“Oh,” Michael says, drawing it out. “This. What good would a cloak do for blending in? Much more modern, I think.”

“Modern.”

Michael hums, tugging it further over his brow with long fingers, before setting said fingers into the little pouch at the front of the hooded sweatshirt. Black and loose, it reveals a swath of pale chest beneath his neck, the hood itself laying softly against his cheeks. He shifts a little, wriggling to comfort, and drawing a bit deeper into the garment.

“It makes me look mysterious,” he says.

Gabriel considers the words, considers the garment and his brother within it. In essence, it is cloak-like, the concept behind it much the same, to keep warm and protected against the elements. But this one in particular, the way Michael curls into it and wears it, certainly doesn’t scream mystery.

“It has ears on it,” Gabriel points out.

“Yes,” Michael grins. “A note of whimsy I appreciate. Humans seem to find it everywhere.”

Gabriel’s lips work together and he lifts his eyebrows. “And takes the mystery right out of your… outfit.”

“Does it?” Michael wonders, a rhetorical bait to which Gabriel stalwartly does not rise, though his brows do higher still. He watches his baby brother - the Sword of God, the Flood of their Father, wrath incarnate, _destroyer of nations_ \- as Michael lifts a hand to one of the feline ears stitched atop his hood, as though he were a cat cleaning himself.

It is a battle raging inside Gabriel to restrain a laugh, pursing his lips together tighter.

“‘The lion, which is mightiest among beasts’,” Michael recites, “‘does not turn back before any.’” His smile widens, mischievous. “I’m a lion.”

Gabriel’s lips part and he has to force himself not to smile, not to indulge his little brother just yet. Michael looks delighted, entirely happy.

“You certainly will be if you wear that for Uriel’s next commissioned family portrait,” Gabriel allows, bringing a hand to rub against his lips, hiding a smile with that, too. In truth, Michael looks as he did to Gabriel the first day they were made, wide-eyed and curious, a true child of the world. Despite so much that has happened, he is still that, always that, for Gabriel.

“Michael,” he laughs finally, unable to hold it. “Why. Why this? You look ridiculous.”

Michael’s lips curve into a little pout, bottom lip poking out. It doesn’t do much to make his case that he does not, in fact, look ridiculous, but rather stealthy. Ferocious, even, were he to bare his teeth and snarl out a growling threat. He lets his fingers drop from the ear but doesn’t return it to his pocket, instead stretching lean and long and rising to his feet.

As if affronted, Michael tugs his hoodie down a bit and affects a languid shrug. “Uriel likes it,” he intones, raising an arch brow. Mist coils around his legs as he comes closer to his brother, near to tears now in his delight. “I blend in better on earth as well. You can’t go gallivanting about in cloaks and armor, Gabriel -”

“Blend in?” Gabriel laughs. “You’re over six-foot tall, little brother.”

Michael sinks to his knees so close to Gabriel that he’s forced to spread his legs wider than they were already. A quick swat sends his book to the floor, and Michael rests his hands on Gabriel’s thighs in its place. His eyes flash, drawn up in the corners, beneath the shadowy hood.

“And doesn’t it make me that much more fierce?” He grins.

Gabriel laughs again, helpless, always, to Michael’s whims and pleasures. He sits before him hooded and ear-ed and, in a word rarely used by anyone outside of their shared eyrie, adorable.

“You will terrify,” Gabriel confirms, tone steady, as Michael bares his teeth in a grin and growls softly before allowing a laugh to take over. “You will threaten.”

“I am fierce.”

“A worthy costume for the Sword of God,” Gabriel tells him, and when Michael blinks, pleased and surprised both, a quick shove sends him to the floor with a yelp, and a graceful swing of Gabriel’s legs shifts him atop. “You should live up to it.”

Michael grins so wide that Gabriel can hardly see the blue in his eyes, before his lips curl in a snarl. A twitch of movement finds his wrists pinned and Michael leans up, snapping his teeth.

“And tear your throat out like a real lion?”

“I’m trembling,” Gabriel murmurs. Michael bucks upward enough to unseat Gabriel over him, forcing him to tuck his shoulder into a roll as Michael turns to his stomach. Clambering after, they meet on their knees, and each grasps the other by the back of the neck. Their strength equalizes in a delicious tension, muscles resistant as their brows meet and they hold each other in a clinch.

Michael tries to tug Gabriel off his balance. This way, that, each time Gabriel resists being turned, until Michael finds his timing and with his free hand, snares Gabriel’s thigh and pulls, leaning into him to pin him to his back.

The fall is easily taken, and a whisper of unfurling wings brings Gabriel to an easy landing. They tussle as they always have, like puppies rolling in the hay, matched in strength, here, too, matched with intent, amused and contented. Gabriel happy to see his brother home, Michael happy to be, for this, for everything they share.

Gabriel traps Michael’s arm beneath a knee, arm across his throat, though he rests his weight on his fingers, not on his brother.

“Just imagine,” Gabriel says. “New editions of the Bible, portraying the awesome Michael in a hoodie with ears.”

“A lion,” Michael protests, laughing as Gabriel presses just a little more, not enough to even shorten his breath, but just to deepen the contact. “They wrote about it already, the angel beside the throne who appears as a lion, in Revelations -”

“Oh, Michael,” sighs Gabriel. “First, you know that was Uriel’s work - she laughed for weeks after that they’d written all that nonsense down. Second, you are not allowed to wear a hoodie with cat ears to the end of days.”

“Not allowed!”

“No, forbidden,” Gabriel grins, eyes narrowing. “Father would have a field day with you if you showed up to the apocalypse wearing that. It’s for your own good.”

Michael’s smile hardly gives way enough for him to snarl, but he manages it, snapping his teeth again. He shifts, testing for resistance and seeking out an instance to move against it, but Gabriel’s counter-weight is effortless. Only when Michael leans up - hood sliding from his head - and brushes a kiss beneath Gabriel’s jaw, does Gabriel begin to ease up.

Until Michael purrs.

It’s such a strange sound coming from him, from Michael who, in truth, is a very quiet thing unless provoked or handled. Gabriel’s brows raise higher and he presses closer to his brother to pin him, to feel that sound vibrate through their ribs.

“What,” he asks him, tone deliberate and slow as Michael’s lips spread, “are you doing?”

Michael tilts his head and rubs cheek-to-cheek with Gabriel, nuzzling fondly as much to hide the deviousness in his eyes as for the affection itself. He curls his fingers, one hand held beneath Gabriel’s arm, the other beneath his knee, and musters up another warm vibration of sound before a laugh splits it apart.

“Trying to prove to you my ferocity,” Michael grins, as Gabriel turns a dry look to him.

“How much, Michael?”

“It was hardly any money at all,” he pouts, trying to free a hand to put his hood back on.

“Not that,” Gabriel sighs. “To drink.”

“Oh! I lost count. Will you help me? I’d like my ears back, please.”

Gabriel sighs, ducks his head to press their foreheads together and hums. “She is a corruptive force, our sister.”

Another laugh from Michael, delighted, and how can Gabriel refuse him anything? How could he refuse this laughing, helpless, beautiful creature anything at all? He reaches to pull the hood back over his brother’s head, feeling immediately when Michael shifts his hands, his weight, and upends Gabriel to the pillows again, settling over him with a sigh of contentment, arms crossed on Gabriel’s chest and hood half-covering one eye. His wings stretch and spread and fall wide around them, touching Gabriel’s beneath, and he smiles wider.

“Intoxication is truly one of humanity’s greatest inventions.”

“Did you manage to fly up here like that?”

“I… caught a ride,” Michael admits, and Gabriel just rolls his eyes to the ceiling, imagining Raphael gathering their wayward siblings from earth. He exhales with a hum as Michael inches higher, enough that he can touch the tip of his nose to Gabriel’s throat, so light it makes him shiver. A long breath deepens the tingling - like static before a storm - and Gabriel sets his hand to Michael’s back.

“You know what this means, don’t you?” Michael asks. Gabriel tips his head enough to regard him, as Michael spreads a hand against Gabriel’s chest and traces words against him in Enochian, trickling embers of gold in their wake.

“I’m afraid to ask,” he murmurs.

“Next time,” Michael says, “you’ll have to come with us.”

“My sister’s already turned my twin into a house cat, what more could I possibly prevent now?”

To hear Michael laugh has always been - will, Gabriel imagines, forever be - a rare delight. More often than not he is a somber creature, occupied by the grim purposes for which he was made - war and wrath, punishment and retribution. He is quiet, wont to impulsive destruction and grey sullen sulking. It is only in the eyrie, or with one of his siblings, that he allows mirth to split his darkened sky and illuminate him into blinding beauty.

"You could prevent my missing you," Michael tells him. "And if you'd come this time, you could have prevented me becoming a very dangerous creature, indeed."

He curls his fingernails against Gabriel's chest as if they were claws, teeth bared in a grin and one eye still hidden behind his hoodie with the little pointed ears on top.

Gabriel allows himself to rest back comfortably, with his brother atop him, making loving warbling sounds and nuzzling him like a creature possessed. He is lithe and wonderful, playful and little, and Gabriel wants nothing more than to gather him close and hold him there. But he knows Michael will not go, not when he is so filled with energy and pleasure. He will flounce around the eyrie until exhaustion takes him and he collapses in a giggling pile of feathers and warmth and sleeps.

Father above, he is beautiful.

“Could I tame such a fierce beast?” Gabriel wonders absently, smiling as Michael sets his chin to Gabriel’s collarbone.

“To your will?”

“To my hand and kindnesses.”

Michael makes a pleased little noise at the thought, hand drifts from Gabriel’s chest across the opposite shoulder from where he lays. Past it, fingertips tapping an unsteady rhythm, he finds the bony wrist of his brother’s wing and strokes each feather there in turn.

“All creatures want to be cared for,” he considers. “Even lions.”

“And how does one care for a lion?”

Michael wraps his hand around the curve of Gabriel’s wing and levers himself gently upward. Tucking his nose to Gabriel’s neck, his lips move softly against his twin’s pulse as he speaks.

“Everyone fears the lion in his might,” he says. “They are not wrong to do so. But perhaps the lion needs to be loved, just as much. Given rest when tired, given protection when the fight in him is out. Gentleness, rather than only terror.”

Gabriel sighs as though put upon, and sets his hands to Michael’s back as well, working his fingers against the warm, downy feathers that join his wings to his back until Michael shivers.

“I suppose I could offer shelter to a tired ferocious beast come in from the cold.”

“It’s summer.”

“And I could just as easily put it back out for being mouthy.”

“But I’m cold.”

Gabriel laughs, just touching his brother, gentling him until his breathing hitches in comfortable pleasure and he squirms against him, and then Gabriel shifts to rest on his side, taking Michael with him.

“I thought this was meant to prevent cold,” he says, tweaking one of the cloth ears as Michael grins at him. He squints a little as Gabriel slides the hoodie a little further down his brow, then shakes his head enough to see again.

Sliding an arm over Gabriel’s waist, Michael presses close and finds himself held in turn. Forehead to forehead, almost, just enough distance between them to watch the other’s eyes searching their own, each curls a wing around to further keep their closeness. Just as they used to lay when they were newly made, cocooned beneath glossy black feathers, they settle into the ease that can only be afforded by - and allowed with - their twin.

“It does,” Michael says. “A little. But you’re much warmer.”

“Not as cute, though.”

“Is it?” Michael asks as he bites his lip, triumphant grin spread wide.

Gabriel’s laugh is a breath against him and Michael closes his eyes with a smile, nose wrinkling, before he opens them again.

“You are a wonder,” Gabriel tells him. “A delight in darkest moments. Never change, little brother.” Another gentle caress against Michael’s fluffy hair and the hood is adjusted to sit well against it, ears poking out at strange angles.

“You know, in truth, you look rather fetching,” Gabriel admits.

“In truth,” Michael echoes, pleased. Wing wrapping tighter, Michael brings his hand from around Gabriel to press against his chest, up to his throat, tracing his jaw. “A compliment for yourself as well, I think, considering we’re twins.”

“Twins who look nothing at all alike,” Gabriel reminds him. His eyes close beneath his little brother’s gentle explorations; his lips part when Michael follows their shape.

“No, I suppose we don’t. You don’t have a hoodie, or feline ears.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I meant.”

Michael laughs, snorting just a little. “Do you want to pet them?”

“I don’t,” Gabriel answers, amused. “Do _you_ want me to pet them?”

“Would it make me more fetching than only ‘rather’?”

When Gabriel laughs, Michael’s eyes open to watch. Delight comes so readily to his twin, possessing passions for so many more things than Michael’s sole drive towards war. Molded of the same fire that burns in their Father’s heart, he himself the Heart whose rhythm keeps their family held together. Messenger of woe and victory, foretelling good news and ill. His emotions are never veiled, and Michael’s own heart beats faster with the connection of their shared substance that lets him join in such sensation.

His joy is beautiful.

His grief is agony.

Michael tilts his cheek into Gabriel’s hand as it frames his cheek, and sighs love against his palm.

“I found it charming that humans have taken to wearing cloaks again,” Michael muses. “Decorated as they are, short as they are -”

“The humans or their hooded garments?”

“Hoodies,” Michael tells him, every letter emphasized before he laughs. “They call them hoodies.”

"Ridiculous," Gabriel sighs, fond.

"The humans have grown taller, actually," Michael corrects him, pressing closer. "Lazier, from the decades of relative peace."

"Do you there a correlation between their laziness and the length of their hoodies?"

Michael, for a moment, genuinely considers the question, while Gabriel watches him, brows up, amused entirely by the inebriation and how it takes over Michael’s form.

"Perhaps between their height and the times, maybe," Michael offers, and Gabriel’s smile is radiant before he presses it to Michael’s neck. Happy to be interrupted by his sibling, for a change, with something silly as this. Slowly, he raises a hand and strokes over the soft fake ears that rest pressed to Michael’s head.

Michael’s whole body responds at once. A hum that - unintentionally - sounds so close to his purring before, carrying resonance through fingers that splay and press, farther to a blissful tightening of his belly, stretching his legs down to pointed toes. His smile is radiant with warmth as the funny little affection rebounds beneath another stroke, toes rounding, legs tangling with Gabriel’s, fingers curling against his jaw. Even his feathers splay and ruffle before they settle again.

He sighs, drowsy in their shared heat, lashes long against his cheeks. “Not all places are so fortunate, but many are free from the strife in which they began. No famines will destroy their food stores, no wars threaten their homesteads. They have settled and expanded, grown from survival to slack, and in that freedom, they have created. Uriel’s artists now are vast in number compared to ages past. Perhaps that good health has made them tall.”

“And ease of mind giving birth to invention,” Gabriel considers. “Tall buildings and swift travel.” A pause, and Michael begins to laugh before Gabriel even says. “Fashionable new garments in which to attire themselves, mimicking the creatures who once hunted them as prey.”

Michael twists against him, turned half onto his back to regard the ceiling of feathers across him. His own lays atop, always, a shield against the outside. Gabriel’s beneath, always, in protection of Michael. He reaches and grasps one of the sleek black feathers with his fingers, stroking it smooth. Then another, then another.

“I don’t think they fear us anymore,” Michael considers, nose wrinkling and eyes narrowing in amusement. “Not like they used to. You know they sell votives of us both in little shops?”

Gabriel blinks, and Michael laughs.

“It’s true! Brightly colored candles in glass, between the potato chips and toothpaste, or behind the counter beside the cigarettes.”

Gabriel hums and spreads his feathers a little further as Michael lazily preens him.

"Are we depicted true to form?"

Michael makes a humming sound of distaste and Gabriel sighs their sister's name like a curse, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes.

"And she is depicted as a golden flow of light, I assume?"

"She is usually depicted as a man."

Gabriel snorts and presses his hand to his face, before a smooth, low laugh vibrates between them.

"She must be delighted."

“I’m sure she is,” Michael grins, “especially since she’s given Raphael the same treatment. Got the robes right, though, and the book.”

Gabriel turns his head to nuzzle Michael’s temple, sighing with a shiver as Michael eases an errant feather back into place. Gentle touches. Fond touches. Each one an act of devotion, little movements to ensure the other’s wholeness.

“And I?” Gabriel asks, grinning against Michael’s cheek when his little brother laughs hard enough that he has to stop preening for a moment to let it pass.

“I knew that was coming.”

“Well?”

“Very solemn,” Michael tells him. “Ascending from on high in billowing robes, no doubt on your way to announce the arrival of -”

“Don’t say it,” groans Gabriel.

“Our half-brother,” grins Michael. “Shame that’s what they know you for best.”

“Uriel,” he snorts again. “Remind me to thank her when she manages her way back to the eyrie. And you? Sword raised, I’m sure, in holy armor. Casting down the unworthy. Great and terrible -”

“Not the unworthy,” Michael interrupts. Gabriel lifts a brow but nuzzles closer, touching a kiss to Michael’s cheek. He does not need to see his expression to feel the pluck of discord, clear as harp strings detuned to dissonance. “Our other.”

Silence falls then, between them, and Michael makes a fussy sound of displeasure before burrowing against his brother.

"Of all the things to show," he whispers. "One of the purest cruelties I regret."

Gabriel remembers him. They all do. Calm and quiet and self-assured, always with a raised eyebrow and exhaustion writ on his features. And then the arguments, the yelling and the storms that followed His displeasure. But rarely a bad word for his siblings, rarely anger directed at them. Always soft words to convince and coerce, never to harm. Gabriel had loved him. He had known him. He remembers delivering the word to Michael and holding his brother as he fought it, knowing he could do nothing but obey.

“Humans remember the drama,” Gabriel sighs. “They seek a reminder of horrors so they can play at not fearing them.”

Michael stills his fingers and turns to Gabriel entirely. An adjustment of wings and bodies settles them again, as Michael fits his head beneath Gabriel’s chin, snared close by the firm arm around him. Always this. They always have this. No matter who or what comes against them, no matter how their own Father raises His fury in wild swings of mood, even He cannot separate the forces that join them. Gabriel’s voice the only that Michael listens to beyond their Father, Michael the only being which Gabriel would rebel against Him to protect.

“She knew him too,” Michael murmurs. “Perhaps she’s forgotten how he was, truly. Her memories replaced instead by the whimsical imaginings of mortals who could not know -”

“Michael.”

“- who could never know what it was like then, during the war. Before it. After it,” he laughs, and the bitterness that burns the sound pulls Gabriel’s brows inward.

“Michael,” he murmurs again, not to silence, but to comfort. His name, the first word that Michael heard in all creation. His name, spoken by his brother - his twin - tugging him from nothing into being.

Michael eases in inches, allowing the remainder of alcohol still flush within his body to relax what little Gabriel’s comfort does not.

“Maybe she’s jealous,” Gabriel wagers, leaning back a little. He lifts Michael’s chin and their eyes meet as he smiles. “He always did like you best.”

The singed edges of Michael’s laugh vanish to ash, and he pushes up to trap his twin’s lips against his own. They coil tighter in a sinuous movement, softly pressing legs to legs and hips to hips and heart to heart. When Michael leans away it is with a wrinkle in his nose and amusement gathered into fine lines at the corners of his eyes.

“Was this, too, one of her jokes?” Michael asks, biting his lip in eagerness for answer. “Fooling me into thinking I’m a lion.”

“Her jokes are rarely elaborate,” Gabriel smiles. “I suppose it was a practice in influence. Pulling from you your whimsical nature in a place you should never show it, before you returned home.”

“To you.”

Gabriel just smiles his answer and Michael knows it’s true. It is always to him. Whether in their eyrie or another place entirely, Gabriel is his home, just as Michael is Gabriel’s. Instead, Gabriel brings his hand up to pet against the plush ears once more, watching Michael wriggle happily against him closer.

“You know I’m yours, don’t you,” Michael confesses, though he knows that Gabriel knows it. They share a heart, a mind, a soul, separate only in body and that means little when the rest of their beings are twined together as one. His smile widens as he tilts his head up into his brother’s touch, and it breaks to a grin as he’s kissed on the cheek. “Truly yours. Your lion, your sword. Let Father scold me for it, He knows it as well. I hear your voice with the power of His and greater clarity. I know your reasons.”

“Heresy,” whispers Gabriel against Michael’s skin, as the younger of them - by an instant - squirms tickled by the brush of breath across his neck, laughing.

“Truth, and He would not have made us that way had He not intended it,” Michael challenges. For a moment their eyes meet, and Michael holds his bottom lip between his teeth. Another stroke across the ears on his hoodie finds him leaning in to tangle a kiss, clumsy and messy and perfect.

Gabriel kisses him back, giving in to the pliancy and squirming of the body above him. He always gives into him. He would give Michael anything. He already does.

“Next you will come home with a tail,” Gabriel says between kisses, and Michael laughs against him.

“Should I?”

“I would hardly put it past you or our sister,” Gabriel admits, slipping his hands beneath the soft hoodie to find Michael blissfully and shamelessly naked under it. He hums his pleasure at the fact, arches up and feels Michael scramble against him to stay atop, alcohol-warm and uncoordinated.

Michael squeezes his long legs against Gabriel’s hips, hooking his toes against his thighs for contact there, too. Everywhere, everywhere - hands on chest and legs entwined and wings draped over them both as he kisses him again. A gentle turn of his body brings their hips to meet but little more comes of it than a comforting friction, instinctive motions that soothe in their familiarity rather than stir them to more.

Michael only takes his hands from Gabriel’s chest to pull his hood up again, delighting as Gabriel laughs low. When he bows over him again the hood shields them too, wrapped in layers of wings and bodies and garments so that when their kiss wraps softly together, it is as though they are alone in the universe. Long fingers graze Gabriel’s cheeks as Michael twists their tongues together. Their kiss parts as he pulls Gabriel’s bottom lip between his own to suckle and hold between his teeth.

A note of warning, no bite behind it at all, pulls Michael to grinning as he rubs their hips together again. Shameless, for they know no shame. Sinless, for no mortal sin sticks to them. The taboos of the world so far beneath their own applies little to two brothers whose joining is not an act of transgression, but rather another way to feel their existences sync together in tandem.

They are twins, after all. Made of the same celestial fabric.

“I love you,” Michael whispers, breathing a quiet laugh. “No one would ever put up with me as you do.”

“No one should,” Gabriel hums, entirely fond, setting a hand to the back of Michael’s neck to hold him close. “You reek of whiskey and coffee.”

“The latter to help me stay awake for more of the former.”

“Philistine,” Gabriel tells him, laughing, rocking up against his brother as Michael squirms down against him, contented and delighted by the chastising. “One or the other, never both together, silly boy.”

“But it was _good_.”

“Never mix your pleasures, you will wear out their welcome faster.” Gabriel warns him, laughs when Michael just swoops his wings around them and shifts some of the pages in the books open nearby. He tucks his head against Gabriel’s, turning it aside as Michael seeks for his throat. He leaves languid kisses there - little presses of lips and those that are longer, open-mouthed and humming.

“What a terrible fate,” Michael murmurs, between leaving marks against his brother’s skin. Gabriel’s hands against his back ripple shivers through him, and Michael moans outright when Gabriel grasps his wings at their base. “Is that true for all pleasures?”

“Is this a theory you wish to test with me, little brother?” Gabriel asks him, smile curling warm as he massages the sensitive skin that flows smoothly to feathers and Michael moans again. “That frightfully adorable hoodie of yours and our usual play and coupling, shall we see if one outweighs the other?”

Michael - the soldier, the warrior, smiter of cities - is truly, to Gabriel’s delight, a kitten beneath his hands. He tightens his thighs against Gabriel’s hips and lays flat against him, curling his body to rub the length of it long and lazy along that of his stalwart twin. Moans punctuate his gentle kisses when Gabriel’s hands move against his wings, as Michael relinquishes himself willing and pliant to his brother’s guidance.

“Frightfully now, rather than - ah, ‘rather’,” Michael grins, as intoxicated by Gabriel as by mortal wine. “One should test their theories, I think.”

“A scientist, now?” Gabriel teases him, giving Michael’s wings a squeeze and watching as he arches upward. Hands flat against Gabriel’s chest, he stretches his wings wide and bends his back, his grin crooked and his gaze hooded - indeed, his whole head hooded, and with perky little cat ears atop.

“Wear out your welcome,” Michael begs him. He tries to bite his lip but laughs before he can, cheeks ruddy as he spans a hand across his face. “I want you terribly,” he murmurs, muffled, “but this body, it -”

“Has already done just what you ask,” Gabriel points out, and Michael drops his hand to Gabriel’s chest with a firm slap.

“What weak bodies these mortals have. At what other time would one more want to give themselves to this than in the throes of blissful inebriation, and yet -”

“Hush,” Gabriel tells him, smiling when Michael just whines against him in displeasure. Deliberately, he rubs their groins together to no result beyond more personal disappointment. He is a willful and petulant thing, proud and glorious, and right now mere seconds away from blissful sleepy collapse.

"Perhaps if you count to ten, you will awaken refreshed."

"You trick me."

"I would never." Gabriel’s eyes narrow in delight and he draws his nails up and down Michael’s back before grasping his wings once more. "Count for me. Shall I count with you?"

Michael makes a low sound, coiling in a languid curve just to feel Gabriel grasp the base of his wings a little firmer. His cheeks warm, blossoming like roses beneath the pale blue sky of his eyes, his lips scarlet as he sucks the bottom one between his teeth and releases it. He relents to Gabriel’s gentle jests. He relents to Gabriel always, and willingly.

“Count with me,” Michael agrees. His laugh is sweet, almost shy, wide smile hidden behind his hand. “One,” he says, as Gabriel’s voice joins his own.

“Two.” Another twist of hips, harder, that yields pleasure but no more stirring between his legs than before.

“Three,” Gabriel leads him, and Michael eases lower, hands to either side of his brother’s head.

On four their bellies are pressed together. Five finds Michael’s legs stretching long down either side of Gabriel’s own. With the count of six, he tucks them between instead, laying flat against his twin.

“Seven,” Michael murmurs, resting his cheek against Gabriel’s chest and watching him. Gabriel counts eight, sliding Michael’s hood atop his head. Nine sends a shiver through Michael, as his brother smooths his hair back from his face and presses a kiss to his brow.

Michael doesn’t hear the whispered _ten_ , sighing long in sleep, curled against Gabriel’s chest.

Gabriel strokes fingers gently through Michael’s hair beneath the hood and listens to him breathe. He wonders what the response would be if anyone saw Michael like this. If human beings could see their most fierce and feared angel in animal ears curled up in drunken sleep against his brother.

A laugh pulls warm from him and he soothes Michael when he shifts fussily against him.

Slow and gentle, he moves until Michael lays prone on the pillows instead, wings spread wide and shivering as he dreams. He reaches for a stray feather and turns it straight, smiling when Michael spreads his wing wide over Gabriel’s lap for him to continue to preen him.

“Selfish little thing,” Gabriel whispers.

Michael’s smile widens, and though he drags the back of his hand across his eyes, he doesn’t open them after, nestling into the bed of pillows beneath. Gabriel’s hands against his wings, easing each and every feather back into place, tugs a shiver through his twin and he murmurs low.

“Only because you give me so much.”


End file.
